


Familiar Faces

by luckydip



Category: Dark Angel, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckydip/pseuds/luckydip
Summary: The Winchesters find something they're not expecting on a routine hunt in Seattle.





	Familiar Faces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseFrederick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFrederick/gifts).



> Hi RoseFrederick,
> 
> Here's your Crossovering gift. Your prompts were wonderful and I actually ended up planning a whole 'verse based on it. Unfortunately RL kicked my butt and so I only managed a short standalone. But I am going to go back to it. 
> 
> Hope you had a good exchange and here's to more DA fic.

This bar was a dump. Not that there were many high class establishments left in the country since the Pulse, or that Dean had spent much time in them unless they were working a case, but even for them this was bad. But still, it had beer and was somewhere they could fly under the radar and that was enough.

Dropping a twenty on a bar that hadn’t been cleaned since the 2010s, Dean picked up their drinks and headed back to the table where Sam was hunched over his laptop. 

“Find anything?” Dean asked, placing the drinks down on the table so he could sweep the broken glass and debris off his seat before dropping onto it. 

Sam made a non-committal noise. “Maybe?” He flipped the laptop round to show Dean and picked up his glass. “There’s some evidence of demon activity, but I’m not sure why it’s here.” 

“Maybe it’s the stunning Seattle weather.” Dean mused as he flicked down the article Sam had found about an investigation of a warehouse down by the docks after locals had complained of a strong stench of sulfur. Huh. “What would demons want with the docks?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s a big trading point, they might be organising a delivery of some kind.” 

It wasn’t a theory that filled Dean with joy. “Or it could be several large crates of rotten eggs.”

“It could,” Sam conceded, “but I like to think that the police would have found that.” 

“That’s a lot of faith you’re putting in our boys in blue, Sammy.” Privately, Dean agreed with him. He thought the police were capable of finding pretty much anything in these warehouses, particularly anything of value. He’d never had much respect for authority figures, but since the Pulse there had definitely been an increase in cops that were happy to do business on the side. Unfortunately, Dean couldn’t think of anyone desperate enough to buy rotting eggs.

“We should check it out.” Dean took a swig of his beer.” Do you want to go tonight?” 

“You got anything better to do?” Sam asked with a pointed look at their surroundings. 

Dean flicked his gaze to the pool table behind them. “I dunno, thought I’d do a little work while we’re here.” He had his eyes on a cocky looking group leaning up against the pool table. He was fairly certain he could pull the earnest newbie con and top up their cash supplies.

Sam clicked the laptop closed. “Do you want my help?”

“Neh, I got this. See you back at the motel.” Their room wasn’t too far. Seattle had been divided into sectors since the Pulse. The sectors were separated by checkpoints that were a real ball-ache to get through if you didn’t have a sector pass, so they tried not cross too many. 

Openly watching the pool table with curiosity, Dean pushed off his bar stool to go and meet the marks, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Dean clenched a fist under the table in anticipation of a fight before he turned to face the intruder. He found a leather clad biker as standing over him. The guy had at least ten years on Dean and on his own wasn’t a threat, but Dean glanced behind him to check for backup. 

The biker caught his movement and withdrew his hand, holding it up to show he meant no harm. “I’m not looking for a fight, man. Just thought you’d want the heads up that your kid’s in trouble out back.”

“My kid?” Dean knew he wasn’t the most observant guy around, but he was fairly certain he’d have noticed becoming a father.

“Yeah.” The biker jerked a thumb towards the door. “He was about to take a dive into a dumpster last I looked, but if you’re not interested, I'll leave you to it.” 

Dean drained the last of his beer and slammed the empty glass back down on the table. “Okay then. Let’s go check on junior.” He pushed himself to his feet and headed in the direction of the door, not needing to look to know that Sam had fallen in step with him.

“You know this is a trap right?” Sam spoke low so that no-one else could overhear them.

Geez, way to give a guy some credit. It wasn’t like Dean had been hunting for thirty years or anything. Not to mention having significantly more experience in getting into, and out of, trouble in bars. Since the Pulse there were definitely more people who were looking for a fight, or easy money. This was a play that Dean hadn’t come across before – if they were the targets, taking a punt that someone had a kid was a fairly big risk. He didn’t bother dignifying Sam’s comment with a response before he pushed the door open to see what was waiting for them.

There was a fight going on, the biker had been right about that. Three guys against one, although the loan man looked as if he was holding his own. Dean couldn’t help but be impressed as he watched the guy flip one of his opponents over a shoulder and use the weight to knock the other two to the floor. One of them made an effort to get back up but a foot to the chest put them right back down.

Fight over, the guy dusted himself off and turned back towards the bar. Dean froze as he came face to face with one that looked remarkably like his own. Or his twenty years ago, it was like looking at his yearbook photo, if he'd ever bothered to have one taken. The kid paused as their gazes met.

“Huh.” Turned out the biker really was just trying to help. Good to know there were still decent people in this country.

The kid was watching them both with a completely blank expression. Dean had thought he’d seen a flash of recognition in the kid’s eyes as he’d clocked them but couldn’t swear to it. Dean's own brain was so shocked by what he was seeing, it was rapidly trying to work through all the potential options. The kid had to be about 20, so born around the turn of the century. He was always so careful, and none of his hookups had ever got back in touch. Unless..."Ben?"

The kid stiffened for a moment – almost imperceptibly but Dean caught it – before shaking his head. Was it Ben, and he hated Dean enough for abandoning him and Lisa that he wouldn't admit he knew Dean. Had he just given the impression to someone else that he had a collection of castoff children? Dean had so many questions, and if the kid in front of him had any answers, he wasn't coughing them up.

“Wow.” Sam finally spoke up next to him. “If you’re not Ben, then –.”

“Sam.” Dean interrupted. Sam’s lips thinned in a mulish expression that Dean knew meant he’d be paying for this later but ignored it. If the kid wanted to have nothing to do with them then Dean would respect that.

The kid gave him a sharp nod and turned to leave.

A spark of fear shot through Dean, a split second of panic that this might actually be his kid, his blood and he was about to let him walk off and out of his life for good. “Hey kid – ” he started, and then paused, not knowing exactly what he wanted out of this. “You got a name?” _Weak Winchester. That the best you can do?_

The kid paused and assessed them both for a second. “Alec,” he offered. No last name, no way to track him down. If it was even the truth.

“Are you alright?” _Do you need anything?_ But it was something Dean had to know.

The kid’s face broke into a grin. “I’m always alright.” And with that, he walked passed them and off into the night.

Dean stared after him for a few moments before stalking back towards the bar. “I don’t want to hear it, Sammy.” He snapped before Sam had a chance to speak. Whatever this was, Dean wasn’t in the mood to deal with it without something much harder than beer.

He threw a handful of notes down onto the bar, ordering the strongest scotch they had in stock. The bartender thankfully didn't comment, just pulled the bottle down from behind him. Dean threw back the first glass to try and chase away the kid's voice.

_I'm always alright_

Dean just hoped to God that it was the truth.


End file.
